


peace came upon me and it leaves me weak

by husbandcoded



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Artist Dale Cooper, M/M, not an au. just me expanding on the existing world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/husbandcoded/pseuds/husbandcoded
Summary: He traces the shadow under Harry's chin with his eyes, trying to imagine how the lines of a pencil would follow, what amount of pressure he would need to put on the stick of graphite to fill in the contours of Harry's throat.Harry looks down at him at last, and swallows."Coop..."
Relationships: Dale Cooper/Harry Truman
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	peace came upon me and it leaves me weak

**Author's Note:**

> coop being good at everything he tries is so delightful to me. so I thought I'd give him a bit of a challenge, to make him suffer like me(visual art). Despite him expressing frustration with drawing, he picks the basics up ALARMINGLY quick, just based on his intuition. anyways I hope no other visual artists are reading this that would be embarrassing.  
> title is from 'the air that i breathe' by the hollies.  
> its not directly referenced at any point because it's not Strictly relevant, but cooper is face blind! this has some influence on the way he draws faces (focusing more on specific details, etc.) But in my experience faces are hard to draw regardless. the black lodge isn't mentioned in this so just assume that through movie magic everything works out in the end and it's a non issue. or at least for the purposes of this one shot.
> 
> (this is Definitely not relevant but i don't know where else to share it, so know that harry has adhd. specifically innatentive type. I could do a whole thing about this but I Won't because I am doing my utmost to exercise self-control. My reasoning boils down to a bunch of minor-to-formative character things (not knowing where to put his hands when standing, not necessarily rushing to lead the investigation- though this is more due to him being written in canon as..a real person able to acknowledge when he's in over his head , his intense emotional reaction to josie's death leading to impulsive excessive drinking, etc.) And then the rest is all projection lol)
> 
> the time period at the end is vague but if i had to hazard a guess id say it takes place in the late 2000s.  
> also: I stole the idea of harry having chickens from several fics I've seen, so sorry about that! I thought it was neat.

Andy's courtroom sketches linger in his mind. There was something so striking about them.  
It's not that they were rendered especially well, in a technical sense- and he in no way means that as an insult to Andy. But the way everything- down to a certain motion in the lines, comes together to form something so expressive and significant.. makes sense to him. 

Later, it clicks. Anyone can be moved by good art, and some would argue that's art's purpose. But what fascinates him, is that it's the fundamentals of problem solving. You have a bunch of pieces that interact with each other, and you step back and put them all together to make one big- in this case, literal picture. It's compelling. It's a new skill he can develop and something he can work to solve. 

With nothing better to do for the next hour besides sit around the station, Cooper continues to consider it. 

He's drawn things before- as a child of course, and technically, later as an agent as well- when specific symbols were important to document. So it's not completely foreign to him. That said, he's not at all sure where to start. Pulling a pen out of his coat, he sits down with a pad of paper. After a minute of staring blankly into the note and at the bank logo on it, he decides it would make more sense to start with a pencil- something he doesn't keep on him. He goes to fetch one from Harry's office. And when it occurs to him that the chairs in Harry's office are more comfortable than they are in the meeting room, he settles in opposite of where Harry would normally sit, pulls a notepad out from his coat, and leans forward, pencil in hand. 

A prior understanding of artistic technique would be helpful, but he's found that his intuition has been his best guide till now. It's not like he has access to extensive drawing courses at the moment. Besides, as a beginner, there's nothing he can do but start at the beginning. He hears it's a very good place to start. 

Cooper glances around the room, looking for something to focus his efforts on. 

He starts with the shape of the table he's seated at, and then diverts his efforts to the pen on the surface in front of him when that proves unexpectedly difficult. What's tricky is capturing the precise angle of the board relative to himself. It occurs to him that drawing something organic, and human might be easier. 

This proves false. 

He spends over half an hour sat in front of Harry's desk, attempting to copy his own likeness from his I.D. badge. He hadn't held any illusions that he'd achieve "mastery" right away, but still wouldn't deny being somewhat disappointed and frustrated with his initial sketches. At some point he starts to feel he's getting a handle on it, however, and he finds himself more invested. 

Once he reaches a point where he feels like he can put his pencil down, he does. And sits back to assess his work. 

The lines had come from his hands sort of stiff, and the end product looks more than off. It's just a bunch of scratches and smudges with a clear, if misshapen silhouette. But he feels like he's accomplished something. It's with some small satisfaction that Cooper places the pencil back in the cup on Sheriff Truman's desk and pockets his small leather journal, stuffing it into the chest of his brand new flannel. 

-

Cooper thanks Norma as she sets a cup down in front of him, and pulls out his notepad. A pen is all he has on him, and so, in blue ink, he takes to methodically copying down the shape of the dishes on the table top. Cups with handles are difficult to draw, he's learned. Though, frankly, not any more than anything else. The issue with mugs is that you _think_ you understand where the handle connects with the cup, and yet when you try to replicate the arch there's always _something_ off. It doesn’t help that he’s never had particularly good spatial awareness, and that the shape of the handles is so rounded. 

He finishes one sketch and pauses to take a sip of coffee. Looking around, he can't help but smile. The diner's always peaceful in the morning. No matter how busy it is, it's calm. There's something to watching the usual patrons take their usual orders and sit at their usual tables. The diner is a good place to sit and clear your mind that way, and the food certainly doesn't hurt. 

Head bent over his notebook, he doesn't even notice the pain in his neck until he hears the door swing open, and looks up. 

A familiar figure strides across the floor- with a nod to Norma, and settles into the booth across from him.

"Harry." He grins. 

"Coop." 

"How has your morning been."

"Alright, it's been alright." Harry raises his chin in an attempt to get a glimpse of his notebook. "You drawing there?"

"Certainly attempting to." Cooper furrows his brow. "What I've come to terms with about drawing in the past few months is that it's a frustrating skill to develop. And not always for the reasons you would expect. It's engaging, however. I've also found it to be a good way to document certain more-abstract ideas." 

It hadn't occurred to him until last week- that he could note details of his dreams in illustration. It was something of a revelation to him, as he'd always been a slow writer. Hence his preference for a recorder. But sketching, this was another outlet he could use. Being able to draw the figures that featured in his dreams not only made remembering them easier, but motivated him to continue drawing. The more he developed the skill, the easier it would be for him to quickly and accurately capture highly specific images. Of course, he knows that what's really important to guaranteeing he can recall the visuals in his mind is the act of acknowledging them. I.e. making note of them in order to reinforce the memory. But being able to illustrate them in a way that other people can understand will likely prove useful one day.

Harry nods along somewhat playfully. "Those pencils Lucy get you any good?" 

“They’re great. It was extremely thoughtful of her, I hope she knows how much I appreciated it.”

“I’m sure she does.”

At last winter's holiday party, eight, oh- nine, weeks ago, Lucy had gifted him a set of fine art pencils. She'd handed them to him, saying; "I know you've been drawing and I also know that the pencils you use for writing aren't any good for that, and so I thought I'd get you some."

"On the condition," she had pointed at him before he could respond, narrowing her eyes, "that you share your sketches of Sheriff Truman with him." 

She had paused. "Or at least some of them, because I know he'd think they were really sweet and maybe if he saw the way you see him it would help get through that thick skull of his."

Dale had been somewhat taken aback then, and in the moment hadn't entirely understood what she meant. But he does now. Her words had inspired something of a revelation. On some level, he’d known his feelings for Harry were more than platonic. But it had never been so explicitly laid out for him. He's considered what Lucy said, about sharing his drawings with Harry. But he's not in the practice of doing quick, gestural drawings yet. At least not with any confidence, and especially not of people and complex things like faces. And he knows Harry doesn't have the time to sit for over an hour just so Cooper can draw him. Harry doesn't keep many pictures of himself around either, and so it had never occurred to him to ask Harry for a photo reference. 

Sometimes he'll share a sketch with Harry if he's particularly proud of it, or if Harry asks. Which is what he does now, and Dale slides his paper across the table. 

Harry’s not quite sure what to say, so he just nods in appreciation. 

And that’s okay, because he doesn’t have to say anything. Norma brings out another cup of coffee for him, and they sit in the warm morning light together.

-

"Help yourself." Harry gestures to his fridge. "There's water, there's beer. There might even be some sparkling water, or tonic- if you drink that." 

Cooper nods in acknowledgment. In the end Harry takes a bottle of whiskey down from the cabinet and they sit in the tv room, each cradling amber glasses. 

In the dim lighting of Harry’s living room the whiskey shines. Two coffee tables, or cabinets, really, sit like bookends on either side of the couch. Brown-shaded lamps and an assortment of notepads and pens rest on both of them. Something about the placement of the tables makes sense to him. But he couldn’t say why. They’re sat side by side, and Cooper is sinking into the couch. It hadn’t even occurred to him to sit in the parallel chair. Harry’s head is tilted back against the head of the couch, eyes closed. Dale takes a moment to observe this, before Harry’s glass starts to slip from his hand. 

“Harry.” 

“Hm.”

“Your glass.”

Harry’s grip on the crystal is regained, and he shakes his head, leaning forward. 

“Need to’get more sleep” 

They sit in silence again, and Cooper stares into the worn rug. The tassels on the ends could be represented with small lines, the shadow below the tassels would be much thicker. His eyes slowly make their way around the room, taking it all in with a sudden interest. He finally glances at Harry, who's been looking at him. And their eyes meet briefly, before he looks down.

He traces the shadow under Harry's chin with his eyes, trying to imagine how the lines of a pencil would follow, what amount of pressure he would need to put on the stick of graphite to fill in the contours of Harry's throat. His concentration is so great he hardly notices his own hand coming up to cradle his friend's jaw. 

Harry looks down at him at last, and swallows. 

"Coop..."

He doesn’t say anything, for once at a loss for words. 

A hand comes to rest on his chest, and Dale lazily follows the motion with his eyes. Harry's turned with his one leg up on the couch and they're face to face. Up close like this he can see all the little details you would miss from far away. There’s a distinct shape to the area under Harry’s eyes. And Dale’s heart is beating out of his chest as he closes the distance and turns his face and their lips meet. It’s lazy and sweet and he feels his eyes grow wet as his thumbs graze Harry’s stubble.

-

It's been so long since he's had another warm body next to his like this, all he can do is remain still, echoing the rise and fall of Harry's chest. With a pen in his journal, he later tries to capture the feeling. He recalls running his fingers through Harry’s curls, Harry's slow breath on his neck, his strong arms around him, and attempts to commit it all to paper- but feels he doesn't quite do it justice. 

-

Sat at the kitchen counter, Dale holds his pencil steady above his pad of paper, deep in thought. He'd fallen out of practice drawing recently, and found himself intent on re-developing the skill. "The devil finds work for idle hands," as the saying goes, and he would rather stay busy than invite any trouble into the comfort of his retired life. For the first time in a very long time, he's allowed to rest. 

And it has been a very long time. Years have passed and things have settled- some things in a smoother fashion than others. The passage of time is like that. Like the pine leaves and sand and soil on the forest floor, layered naturally and still subject to change. He has time now. Time to set his mind aside. Time to indulge himself for a minute, an hour, to look into a pair of deep brown eyes. And time to attempt and capture every line that frames them with pencil on paper. 

Eventually he sets his graphite down and reaches for his mug. The coffee's cold but he drinks it anyways, not wanting to get up and put on another pot. This morning he's buzzing with a certain feeling. Excited, almost. Influenced by the golden beads of melting frost on the windows and the brilliant light shining through it. Winter is just over the hill, but still far enough off that he wouldn't say no to one last Fall hike out in the pines. Maybe if it was warm enough he could even stop and do some sketches on the trail. 

The front door behind him pushes open, and Cooper smiles. It was almost already seven when Harry set out to feed the chickens, on account of Dale keeping him in bed for "a few more minutes." He doesn't feel too guilty about it though. The girls might get a bit loud, but Harry feeds them plenty. 

"Harry." Dale greets, turning slightly in his chair and holding up the pad of paper for his partner to see. A spread of wrinkled hands- Cooper's own, litter the page, as well as a fairly decent sketch of the ceramic salt and pepper shakers they keep out on the counter. He wouldn't deny being slightly proud of the latter, it's clear his technique has improved. 

"You're getting real good at that, Coop." Harry says as he enters the room, shrugging off his jacket and slipping off his muck boots at the door. His nose is slightly red on account of the cold, and Dale grins. 

In the grand scheme of things, Dale Bartholomew Cooper is reasonably certain that past circumstances would see that he could in no way be considered "fortunate." At the moment, however- watching the moisture from the outside air drip from Harry's curls, he feels like a lucky, lucky man. 

He must have been staring, because Harry squints slightly and asks; "What? What is it?" 

Dale just grins wider and taps his nose. Indicating his partner's complexion. Harry, in turn, feels at his own face- likely freezing, and groans. 

"It's like thirty out there Coop." He mutters defensively. 

"If it makes you feel any better, I think you look extremely handsome."

And it's true. Time has left its marks; carved valleys under his eyes, and placed sunspots on his arms like drops of dye. Neither of them are as young as they used to be. Things change. 

Harry's soft smile hasn't though. It starts in his eyes, and then tugs at his lips, like joy is a tarp he's trying to hold down in a vicious storm. Like he's afraid if he shows how happy something makes him, it'll slip through his fingers and disappear. 

Harry ducks his head, shoulders rising near up to his ears. 

"Yeah, well," He wavers, still doing his best to hold down and conceal his smile. He eventually fails. "You too, Coop." 

Discarding his gloves on the counter, Harry puts his hand on his shoulder and pulls up a chair. "You know what I was thinking this morning?" 

"You were thinking it'd been a while since we've taken a walk outside together, and that today would provide an excellent opportunity to do just that." 

Shaking his head in not-quite disbelief, Harry grins, and huffs a laugh. "Yeah. Got it in one."

"I was thinking the same. It looks beautiful out." 

"What d'you say we head out and take the Northern path. I need a cup of coffee but I'll be awake in, say...thirty minutes?"

Cooper feels himself smiling again, and nods his head.  
"Sounds like a fine idea."

"Great." Harry acknowledges. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a while, side by side. Dale stares into his mug, then into the wooden boards of the floor, reflecting on the way the light that shines through their kitchen window stains them aureate. Beside him Harry's eyes are fluttering, and slowly close as he starts to doze off. It's warm- especially compared to the chill outside, so Cooper can't blame him. It's an agreeable sleepy morning all around. 

Finally, Harry opens his eyes. 

"Alright."

He gets up, mumbling; "Alright.” again, and “..I think I'll put the pot on again.." to himself, as he does just that. The strong smell of fresh ground coffee hits Cooper once again as he watches Harry shuffle back to their room to change. 

In forty minutes they're out the door, piling into Harry's Chevy. In an hour they're cutting through the woods to the river. 

He ends up leaving his sketchbook behind, and so doesn't get around to drawing any of the woods. But that's okay, it works out alright in the end. Harry's toothy grin as he catches him on the icy trail more than makes up for it.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/191040701@N08/50592272471/in/dateposted-public/)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! this is NOT betad'd or otherwised edited because i Hate writing and I hate reading my own writing. Hope it reads okay because im not strong enough to check. Thers nothing more understimulating than sitting and staring at a screen and forcing urself to type in coherent sentences. this is my first time writing for these two, so im not entirely sure I got their voice but one can hope. I'm really more of an illustrator, but they're both skills I'm trying to work more on. The sketch attached is my work! I think cooper and I would have different drawing styles, but there r some things I feel would be similar. I also think that with the over 10 years of drawing experience he has at the end of this story he'd be much more skilled than i am. ALSO I had such a time trying to correctly format it for ao3??? I wanted to make sure it didn't take up the entire screen on mobile so if you're on desktop it probably looks wicked small. sorry about that.
> 
> comments are greatly appreciated, and while I cant guarantee any more cooper/harry works like this, i am cooking up a character study of audrey horne (that is one-hundred percent me projecting my lesbian feelings.) so if thats any motivation lol.


End file.
